Every Line, Every Word, Everything
by LakesideMinuet
Summary: Alternate Universe, All Human. Edward is preparing for an audition to The Juilliard School on piano. Bella is a singer and guitar player, solely for fun. Can she help him achieve his dreams? ExB Rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue

Hey, all. Those of you who have me on author alert from my other story, don't fret. I'm working on a chapter. I got sidetracked by my own audition preparation and was inspired to write this for my beloved PrincessLeBlanc. **This is rated M**, for later chapters. I'm not sure how in detail I'll go, but we'll see. Completely out of my element, but you never know. **Usual disclaimers apply: Edward and Bella and **_**Twilight**_** are not mine but rather Stephenie Meyer's. The plot and character adaptation and whatnot, however, are mine.**

Summary: All human, alternate universe. Edward is preparing for an audition to The Juilliard School on piano. Bella is a singer and guitar player, solely for fun. Can she help him achieve his dreams?

* * *

Rubbing my eyes and then my temples, I took a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. I had previously shut them and wished with everything in me that I would open them and find that the ridiculous Beethoven concerto on the piano stand had miraculously disappeared. But alas, there it was. Mocking me with its very existence. Dastardly thing.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I flipped the book shut roughly and slammed my head against it, the sigh of frustration ringing throughout the auditorium. Ten minute long solo work minimum, my ass. Of course my mother would push for the Emperor Concerto. What was I supposed to be, a prodigy? And worst of all, my teacher felt I could play the thing. How he was mistaken. At least I had time, right? _No, Edward. Wrong. Thinking that way leads to procrastination._ I looked up at the sound of the heavy doors creaking open and squinted against the stage lights.

"Still here?" Ah, that voice. Isabella. She had been in my music theory class last year and we sat on opposite sides of the classroom. She was apparently a vocalist; once I realized that, I noticed her more and more in choir rehearsal. I accompanied the chorus and she stuck out from the rest because she could actually carry the tune in tune. Or perhaps she stuck out because I purposely tried to pick out her vocal timbre. We never spoke, only made occasional eye contact, but each time she answered a question correctly, I felt myself more and more drawn to speak with her.

So when I walked into the usually empty auditorium last month after school had let out to find her seated on the stage strumming her acoustic guitar, I was beyond shocked. No one had, in my three years at the high school, come there for anything other than musical rehearsals. And those didn't pick up for a few months. That conversation was an awkward one in which I had responded "A bit." to the question of "So, you play the piano?" Such a liar I was. No where near good enough for her, who was so honest with her answer of "I dabble in guitar. For fun. Voice is my realm."

She came back twice more that week, to listen to me play, offering advice, albeit sheepishly out of fear of insulting me, mentioning things that I would have never thought of. She was musically perceptive, immensely so. I enjoyed her company and her feedback more than she could have imagined and missed it when it was not there.

Sighing and breaking out of my reverie, I looked in her direction as she climbed up the steps of the stage with two cups of Starbucks in hand. An angel. She was an angel. "Caramel macchiato, upside down, fat-free milk, one extra shot, no foam. Venti, because I pity you."

"You, Isabella, are an angel of mercy." I took the cup from her readily and set it down on the piano carefully, breaking a cardinal rule of pianists: Never, ever set a drink on a piano.

"Bella. I told you already. It's Bella." She smiled and sat down on the floor, legs crossed and sipped her drink: A grande chai tea latte, two percent milk, I'd assume. Her eyes closed and she hummed in content before looking at me. "So, how's it going with good ol' Ludwig?"

"I want to burn the music," I admitted as grabbed my drink and took a sip, turning to face her on the piano bench. She had recently become my confidante in regards to my audition for The Juilliard School that coming March. I was already in a state of panic and it was only the first week of October. She had since then dropped by at some point in the week, usually more than once, and had recently taken to bringing me Starbucks. "There's no way in hell I ca--"

"Hey, hey. What did we say about negativity? You can do this. I mean, you're Edward! Everyone knows you for playing piano. That has to account for something, right?"

"Well, no offense intended towards the only exception, the students here aren't very musical at all." I took another slow sip from my cup and exhaled slowly before looking at her to see traces of a blush leaving her cheeks.

"Well, let's hear it then." Standing, she came over to me and sat down on the bench next to me, flipping the demon-book open before holding her hand out for my coffee. "Come on. Let's go."

And, like every time before, I couldn't find it anywhere in myself to say no.


	2. Potentially Problematic

Trudging out of last period on Friday was the worst feeling imaginable; it had always been. Fridays I actually went home at a respectable hour. I had to, unfortunately, because my piano tutor come to my home on Fridays. Which meant I had to be home to practice the music on my own piano rather than the one at the school. Sighing, I looked in the direction of the auditorium longingly, and then continued my trek down the hallway towards the exit of the school.

The first time I hadn't shown up to the auditorium on a Friday had resulted with a rather upset Bella marching up to me during choir rehearsal, her hands on her hips and an impressively alluring pout adorning her features. "Where _were_ you?" Of course, in my selfishness, I had forgotten to tell her I had lessons on Friday. But then again, I didn't want to seem presumptuous about her coming to listen to me. In hindsight, I should have said something in passing or something to that effect. After explaining that I had lessons on Fridays, she seemed somewhat mollified and had never brought up my lack of judgement and manners since. Although, I certainly kicked myself in the shin repeatedly for a week or so over it.

Leaning roughly against the door to force it open and stepping outside, I took a deep inhale of the cool autumnal air. Before taking two steps down the slope from the exit, I felt a hand tug on the sleeve of my coat and turned, much too quickly, to find a pair of enticing brown eyes merely inches from my own. "Oh! Sorry, Edward! I..." Taking a step back, the chocolate brown pools formed a face which comprised of cheeks turned brilliant red with embarrassment. How achingly adorable.

"Bella." I smiled, but only enough to not reveal the true level of my joy upon seeing her. Fridays were agonizing for another reason: It meant I couldn't see Bella again until Monday. Wait, _what_? When had I decided that? Isabella Swan was simply a classmate; though she was considered a friend now, I would imagine. But nothing more. A friend, and not even a close one at that; a companion in the auditorium. Not companion, that's the wrong word... company. Company in the auditorium to aid in retaining my sanity. There, that's more accurate.

"... with you."

Huh? I furrowed my brow and realized that Bella had been staring at her feet, mumbling something, apparently, to me. Curse it all. I hadn't been listening. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, um..." She was staring at her feet now. _Edward, you fool. Now she probably thinks you're not interested in doing whatever it was with her._ Was I, though? If she were asking for a date, would I take it? Or perhaps it was simply to accompany her for something... _No need to get ahead of yourself, Masen._ Still, time with her doing whatever was still time with her. Wait a second. Where did all of this come from? Beethoven's driving me crazy...

Just as I was about to turn and run away with my newfound revelation that I was more than likely developing feelings for Isabella Swan, whom I had not even spoken to until this year, the adorably timid figure before me had finished sorting out her fears and started to speak once more. "Well um..." Had she always been like this? We were usually so comfortable with the other. Two musicians enjoying the other's company. "I know you have a lesson today," she rushed and her cheeks flooded with color as she continued. "But I was wondering if I could... well, I mean, I just wanted to know if you wanted to meet at Starbucks or something later. You know, just to talk? I need to ask you something."

"We could just go now." And as soon as the words rushed from my mouth, probably giving away my eagerness, I was immediately regretting them. What was I thinking? I needed to get home. My mother would kill me! "Oh, wa--" And then there was her smile. That's all it took, and my mind was changed.

"My car is in the north lot then. I'll just meet you there, okay, Edward?"

What? No, be the gentleman and drive her. "Oh, don't walk so far. I'll drive you. And then I'll bring you home or back to your car, whichever you prefer."

"Don't go out of your way for me; it's just a little walk. Really. I'll be fine. Really." She started walking backwards towards the lot and I took a step towards her, shaking my head. She stopped with a sigh and leaned her weight on one leg, "Edward, really. I could have been at my car already."

Selfless, and stubborn. How... endearing. "Bella, I insist. Otherwise, I'll pay for your drink." Which I'm going to do regardless...

At this, she seemed to weigh out her options. So she disliked having things paid for. With a final huff, she shifted her weight to the other and threw her arms up in apparent defeat. "Fine, you can drive. Just this once."

Victory.

* * *

Pulling out of the parking lot of our high school, I had never been more conscious of my driving abilities. For some reason or another, I felt the need to impress Bella. And as such, being the over zealous and pompous male that I am, I tried to do just that. How? Not by following the laws; no, that would be easy. I, instead, opted for speeding. And upon sliding—half-assed decently given my idiocy induced speed—into the parking spot at one of the many Starbucks establishments in town, I came upon the realization that Bella was, in fact, extremely . . .

... not impressed. That's great. Unbuckling my seatbelt and shutting the engine, I all but bolted out of the vehicle before heading to her door and opening it for her. She seemed to be recollecting herself from her flustered state and turned to look at me as she finished fidgeting with the seatbelt. "That was... fast."

_Well done, Edward. Well done. _"Ah, yeah..." I chuckled nervously and closed the door behind her as she stepped out of the car. "Sorry. Thrill of the road, you know the drill..."

At this, she laughed and her face lit up in a way that made my heart jump into my throat. What the _hell _was _wrong_ with me? "Adrenaline high? I would have never thought you to be that way, Edward. That's an interesting discovery."

Was that a bad thing? "Oh. Yeah, well. I suppose I am at times."

* * *

When one says they wish to go to Starbucks 'just to talk', it should be assumed that upon accepting the invitation, you have already resigned yourself to losing your entire afternoon at said coffee shop. Unfortunately for me, no one had previously warned me of this. This is not to say, however, that I was unhappy with my time with the wonderful being that is Isabella Swan. It was the opposite entirely; from the moment we sat down with our drinks, which I had paid for.

This was, predictably, completely unacceptable for Bella. But after I had insisted and insisted and then eventually convinced the barista that I would be paying for the order (which also did not go without a complaint from Bella), we sat down and, put simply, we talked. About anything. About everything.

We talked about how she was squeamish over the concept of blood.

About how her father was the police chief in Chicago, and her mother was a teacher in Phoenix and they had a relatively peaceful divorce when she was a child.

About how she had moved to Chicago to live with her father before high school started after her mother married a minor league baseball player.

About how she had broken each bone of her body at least once, and still managed to take ballet for seven years with no sense of balance before switching to voice lessons and guitar.

About how my father, the owner of a private software development company on the verge of going corporate, had wanted me to follow in his footsteps.

About how my mother had started teaching me the piano when I was four years old and once I had shown too much ability for the instrument, hired the same tutor I had for the last ten years.

About how my parents had mixed reactions when I told them I wanted to be a pianist rather than a corporation owner.

"And my mother... my mother," I sighed, shaking my head. "My mother is my harshest critic. She..."

I trailed off as I lifted my head slightly, my eye hitting the clock over the door. My heart stopped and I swore in a whisper. "... is going to kill me."

"Oh, crap! Edward, I'm sorry... what time is your lesson?" Bella quickly stood from her spot, nearly knocking over the chair in the process and almost knocked over her drink and mine in the same movement. She _was_ clumsy. How had I missed that?

"An hour from now. I'm sorry... do you mind if we... I mean, I don't have time to..." I mumbled as we headed to my car, which I hastily got into and started the engine as she sat in her own seat and buckled, albeit rather slowly as she battled the seat belt, and I threw the car in reverse. As I pulled out of the lot with a screechy complaint from my tires, Bella simply nodded.

"That's fine. You can drop me off after your lesson. Besides, I want to meet this critic mother of yours," she teased, as I turned onto the main street leading towards my own.

Well, that's potentially problematic. I really hadn't considered that... Did I want Bella meeting my mother when she was furious that I had skipped out on practicing?

Well... I suppose I didn't have any say in the matter, did I?


	3. Masen Residence

Riding in the car up the driveway to Edward's house, I came upon a number of conclusions. For one, it seemed his family was just _rich_. There was no other way to describe them. The moment we pulled into the garage, there was someone opening the door for us, addressing Edward as "Young Master Masen." It was all very Batman-esque to me. You know how Alfred calls him Master Wayne? It was like that. Only more weird. Because it was describing Edward. And then there was the house. The house was just...

Well, it was big. Conclusion number two: This could not be called a house; this was a castle for modern men. From the outside I was dumbfounded with its enormity and I had only seen the face of the building. Stepping _inside_, well... I swear my footsteps echoed through the house. The worst part was that Edward's steps were silent. I hadn't noticed before just how graceful he was with his motions until just now. Of course I saw it when he played the piano, but that was the piano for goodness' sake. He looked around the house uneasily, and for the first time since I had known Edward Masen, I noticed a tinge of panic in his amazingly entrancing green eyes. It seemed so out of place there.

As was I, I realized, as I tore my eyes away from the wonder that was Edward and looked around my surroundings. I was _way_ out of my league. Edward was probably born with a golden pacifier given to him each time he even whimpered and I had to make do with my thumb. Sighing, I focused down to the ground and noticed the thin, yet intricate, patterned moulding adorning the bottom of the wall. Another reason why Isabella Swan and Edward Masen should not be together. Stuff that I would use to frame the most expensive of artwork imaginable, given my limited budget, at least . . . was used as a decorative final touch on their walls. That's good. And because I was a masochist and loved crushing my hopes and dreams, I looked up to the ceiling to find a similar version of the same decorative liner. Only thicker. And more elaborate. _Just kill me now._

I'll admit that I was thrilled at the concept of seeing Edward's house. But I should have figured with his amazing talent and his amazing clothing and his amazing bookbag and his amazing car and his amazing iPhone, that it would make mine look like a shack. In a garbage dump. How was I supposed to have Edward drive me home now? Mentally kicking myself over and over for my lack of judgement, I closed my eyes and convinced myself that hightailing it out of there would be a terrible idea before I opened them again and came face-to-face with Edward's torso. "Oh!"

"Sorry... that's twice today," Edward mumbled apologetically and took a step back, offering me a sheepish smile.

"No, it's completely my fault. Not perceptive and easily distracted." At this, Edward's smile turned thoughtful and I briefly wondered what was running through his head before I craned my neck slightly to look around the room we had entered.

I scanned the walls and noticed the windows made up a majority of them, and then one wall had a painting of three people, one of which I could have recognized a mile away. The painting did not do Edward justice. Edward stood next to a man, who I could only assume to be his father, with the same prominent cheekbones and disarrayed hair as his son standing merely inches shorter than him. Edward's father had dark hair, and brown eyes, and his appearance next to his son would have seemed almost ordinary if it weren't for his commanding presence. Even in a painted form, his eyes projected a certain aura that demanded attention; I could only imagine what the man was like in person. I was willing to bet that Edward had inherited much of his demeanor and personality from his father; they stood the same and Edward presented himself in a similar way that you couldn't help but pay attention to him when he entered the room. Then again, that may have just been me and my obsession at work...

Finally, my eyes drifted down the painting slightly to a woman seated on the leather chair propped in front of Edward and his father. Her deep emerald green eyes and long, cascading curls of bronze immediately made my jaw drop and I stared in wonder at the beauty that was Edward's mother. Based on Edward's description of how strict she was, I had imagined her to be a bit on the ugly side, but nothing like this. She was petite, yet still had an aura about her of significance. Her skin was fair and she was seated elegantly on the chair; Edward definitely had received some of her beauty in the dice roll that is genetics.

Their entire family was just... _stunning_. I found myself in awe of the air of superiority they gave off simply in a family portrait and realized that, based on at least the house and that butler from the entryway, that they must be just that. Superior. Edward _was_ different from the other boys at our school; less crude, more... debonair, respectful, kind. Edward was a perfect gentleman compared to the rude_ children _who roamed the halls of the high school. So what was he doing at a public high school then? Before I could open my mouth to ask, I looked back at Edward and saw him watching me intently, a hint of my favorite crooked smile on his features. Instantly, I was distracted. Darn this boy and his charming good looks.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait here while I brave my mother, Bella." His eyes went to a doorway nearest us and I could see the bench of a piano from where I was standing. I nodded and he hesitated before heading over slowly, taking a deep breath before he walked into the room.

Moments later, after I had heard seemingly angry whispers coming out from the room, he came back out with his mother following closely behind. I shifted nervously on my feet and tried to smile without looking like I was ready to piss in my pants.

"Bella, this is my mother, Elizabeth. Mom, this is Isabella Swan, a classmate from my music theory class last year and the lead soprano of the choir." Edward smiled at me as he acknowledged my position in the chorus, a position I assumed he cared nothing for.

I blushed slightly and waved awkwardly. "Hi, Mrs. Masen." She was more beautiful than the portrait in person. I should have known since Edward was more breathtaking than his painted version. I bit my bottom lip as she looked me over slowly before smiling brightly, her voice soft and gently. "Just Elizabeth is fine, dear."

I nodded, dumbfounded, and looked at Edward, who seemed equally shocked. "Edward, you should go warm up. I'll take Isabella to the kitchen and have someone cook something up. I'll just send the teacher in when he arrives?" After earning a nod from her son, and watching him turn and head back towards the piano, she finally looked at me, a hint of the smile still on her features. "Shall we?"

* * *

Elizabeth was a lovely person; not at all anything like I had imagined her to be. We talked about many things—mainly her dreams for her son to be a concert pianist now that it was what he wanted—throughout the whole duration of Edward's lesson and she would shake her head whenever he made a mistake.

"Silly boy—he's distracted." She sighed with a frown, looking at me once more. "I can't say I blame him, though."

I flushed slightly and looked down at the bowl of fruit that had been placed before me. "He usually plays much better at the school, though. I think he's just scared." I winced as I realized that I had said took much and looked at Edward's mother nervously. She was looking in the direction of the piano room and sighed.

"Of me, do you think?" She looked at me once more with a forced smile. "I intimidate him because I push him too hard. I just..."

"Want him to do well. He knows. I think he's scared that you'll be disappointed in him since he didn't practice today before his lesson."

"Well, I am."

I blanched slightly. I hadn't intended to get Edward in trouble. "That's my fault, Mrs. Masen. I convinced Edward to come to Starbucks with me."

Elizabeth smiled knowingly and then looked to the door as Edward, who looked a bit angry now that I was paying attention, walked in after bidding his teacher farewell. "I'm fairly sure you didn't have to work too hard to convince him to come with you, Isabella."

By now, Edward had already approached us and was peering into the bowl of fruit in front of me before reaching in and plucking out a melon ball with a grin before popping it into his mouth, the previous anger of his demeanor already vanishing from him. "_Heavens_, that was the worst I've played that concerto. Good ol' Ludwing," he smirked at his usage of my nickname for Beethoven as he sat down in the chair next to me to keep nabbing pieces of fruit away, "must be rolling in his grave right now."

"I'll say," his mother replied, raising an eyebrow at our exchange. This woman never failed to notice anything, whether it be my shifting in my chair because my foot fell asleep or Edward's smirk at me when I blushed upon this realization. For some reason, this newfound fact made me nervous. "But, I'm sure you'll do better next time, isn't that right, Edward? Given the fact that you won't _skimp out_ on practicing."

Edward winced but nodded, looking at his mother apologetically. The way he was looking at her made me feel bad for him; the gaze with which she was piercing him was practically unforgiving, and he looked so frightened by her. I realized that he must have a great deal of respect for his mother—something you don't see often in boys our age, who would sooner curse their mothers out rather than bow their heads in shame when confronted. "I'll take Bella home now, if that's alright with you?" He looked at me expectantly and I just nodded before standing slowly.

"It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Masen." I smiled at her as nicely as I could manage, given the fact that I was nervous out of my brains in her presence now that she had changed back into intimidating-mother mode.

"It was nice meeting you too, Isabella. Do come again. Edward, straight home when you're finished." She stood and left the room, leaving Edward and I alone in the kitchen.

"Jeez-louise," I mumbled, looking at Edward with the best "I'm sorry" expression I could muster.

* * *

The drive back to my house was quiet, for the most part, with the occasional utterance of "I'm sorry" from either side (sometimes in unison), followed by obscene amounts of blushing on my part and a scowl from Edward. This was then followed by an explanation from either party.

_He_ was was sorry that I had to spend the afternoon with his mother, who had probably lectured me into staying away from her son (not the case) and had poisoned me into lying to him. I tried and tried to convince him that this was not true, but he wouldn't budge. Stubborn Edward was extremely frustrating.

I, on the other hand, was sorry because I had gotten him in trouble with my feeble attempt to confess my mounting feelings for him. I had dragged him to Starbucks to talk and eventually lead up to spilling my guts about how his green eyes make my heart flutter when they meet mine and how I love it when he pulls at his hair when he's frustrated and how I'm flattered that his values my opinion and that I blush like crazy when he bumps into me or when he hugs me in his over-enthused moments of success in the Beethoven. I wanted to confess that I was head-over-heels in love with the boy and, true to Bella-fashion, I chickened out before I could. And then, once we had arrived at Edward's house, I knew that my chances were destroyed completely and I very well couldn't invite him to Starbucks _again_ because that would be very, _very_ obvious.

And now that I was paying attention to it, he actually seemed indifferent to me. Sure, he gave me more attention than other girls at the school, but he didn't treat me any more than a friend. I didn't honestly expect him to return feelings for me, did I? Not when music so obviously made up his entire life. Sighing upon this realization, I slumped in my seat and this caused Edward to look at me curiously as he pulled into my driveway. "What is it?"

"No, nothing. I just..." _Think, Bella! Think! _"I just realized that I had an essay I need to work on, that's all."

"Uh huh. Which essay?"

"English..."

"With Dr. Warner?"

"Yeah."

"That's odd. I don't have an essay tonight. Aren't you in Advanced Placement?"

"Uh... yes. Extra credit?"

"Bella, the truth, please?"

"Really, Edward. It's nothing important. I'll see you in school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, first period." He pressed the switch to unlock my door and put the car in park now, reaching into the back seat to grab my backpack for me.

"Yeah." I was halfway to getting the door open when I stopped short. "Wait, what? First... period? Choir's fifth."

"Gala rehearsal? First through third with the orchestra, remember?"

"Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me." I smiled sheepishly and opened the door slightly.

"No problem. See you then, Bella." He flashed my favorite crooked grin and then, before I realized what I was doing and could stop myself, I had leaned over and planted a kiss right on his cheek. _Why_ on _Earth_ did I do that?

Blushing furiously, I threw myself out of the car and hurried a goodbye before practically bolting to my porch, nearly tripping up the front steps to the door and struggling with my damn keys. Hurrying into the house and slamming the door shut behind myself, I leaned against it and exhaled slowly. "And the award for biggest idiot goes to Bella Swan, who completely demolishes her chances with Edward Masen with a single kiss on the cheek."

And now, I had a three period long rehearsal with him bright and early. Fan-frikken-tastic.

* * *

I awoke the next morning with a start. Holy_. Shit. _I left my car in the lot. How the hell was I going to get to school?!

Looking at my clock on the nightstand, I realized that Charlie would have already left for work. And I had gone to bed, in my humiliation over giving Edward a kiss on the cheek, before he got in after filling the night shift. Had he not noticed the lack of the big red truck in the driveway? Apparently so. I couldn't really blame him though, between just barely catching baseball games and being hungry, Charlie wasn't the most observant of fathers when he got home from work, nor was he observant in his sleep-induced grog each morning. I was actually kind of grateful, in a sense, because that had allowed me to be a teenage girl without him intruding on me plucking my brow or something. Or buying tampons and Midol. It saved a lot of awkward conversations.

But right now in particular? I hated not being with Renee. Renee would have realized that my car wasn't out front. And she would have demanded to know why. Okay, maybe the second part wouldn't have gone over well if Charlie had noticed, now that I thought about. What would I say? "Oh yeah, I went to Edward Masen's house and he drove me home yesterday. Yeah, Masen as in _Masen Technologies_."

My heart squeezed at the thought of his name, and, as per usual, I immediately thought of him and felt my face flush with warmth. Almost instantly, I realized that I hadn't looked at Edward's reaction after I had kissed him. I should have. Now, more than ever, I wanted to make sure he didn't hate me. I wanted to make sure he wasn't appalled by me; that I hadn't scared him away with my stupidity.

Groaning, I hurled myself out of bed and changed quickly, resigning myself to walking to school as I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and all that nonsense at a record speed. I sprinted down the hall and down the stairs, grabbing my backpack from the foot of the stairs and tripping over the rug, because the morning wouldn't be complete unless I fell on my face in some fashion or another. I pulled my rain jacket off the hanger by the door, put it on with a bit of struggle and then got my shoes on as I threw the door open, half expecting it to be raining in an attempt by nature to add insult to injury.

It was pouring.

But at that moment, I couldn't care less. Why? Because right there, in the spot my truck usually occupied was a silver Volvo and in the driver's seat was the boy I had been lamenting over since last night.

My heart did a backflip as I pulled my hood up and ran to the passenger side door and climbed inside, a blush on my cheeks as I looked over at Edward, who smiled at me and handed me a bagel and a Starbucks cup.

"I thought you might need a ride."


	4. Admitting and Confessing

"So we're...?"

"We're... what?"

"We're okay then?"

I blinked once, twice and then looked out the windshield of my car, inhaling slowly. I felt Bella tense next to me slightly and looked out of the corner of my eye as she looked down at the drink she was holding on her lap. And then, abruptly, I was laughing. I laughed because it felt good to, because I wanted to, and because she was being so _absurd_ in that moment that I found it frighteningly endearing. And funny. Adorable. And just so..._ Bella._

As my laughter died down, I shifted my car into reverse and backed out of the driveway slowly, chuckles escaping my lips on the occasion as I looked over at the strikingly beautiful creature I now had in my passenger seat. She had her brow furrowed and was biting on her bottom lip, trying, no doubt, not to laugh herself. She had a faint trace of a blush adorning her cheeks, and I could tell from the chocolate pools that were her eyes that she was confused, alarmed, unsure, slightly amused, and completely on the defensive.

She had prepared herself for the worst today. At that moment, with that realization, I stopped my laughter completely and looked at her seriously. I could not imagine what was going through her head, though I wished with everything in me that I could, but I didn't like that she had put up a barrier against me. As if I would reject her. As if I would hurt her.

If there was one thing in my life that I could never do at this point, it would be hurting Isabella Swan. Over the course of the last year or so that we had known each other, I had grown attached to keeping her happy, to keeping her constantly smiling. Any other scenario involving Bella simply seemed ludicrous, insane. And in that moment, I realized that I would give it all up, everything, even my music, if it meant keeping her happy. When had I changed so drastically that I had gone from a musician to head-over-heels about a girl?

The answer to that was, of course, the moment I had first met her. Should I be upset with her? Could I be? Of course not. I only felt adoration and loving affections for Bella. And, after that kiss yesterday on my cheek, I could only surmise that she felt the same. Or at least I hoped so.

"We're okay," I finally responded, smiling slightly with a nod before looking back ahead to continue our drive towards our school. And yet there, in the back of my head, that _damn_ conversation between myself and my meddling teacher and then, later, my mother, flickered forth and made itself known.

My mother, I had expected. I knew it was coming the moment I walked into the piano room after my trip to Starbucks and the way she had glared at me. I knew she would mention it when she got me alone. But my teacher?

I was not prepared for my teacher's comment when my hand slipped off the black key that I had always hit flawlessly each lesson before.

"Girls are a distraction. You shouldn't waste your time."

Who the _hell_ was _he_ to tell _me_ what to do?

Who had given this man the right to tell me, after I had looked at him incredulously, that I should not spend time with Bella because she would hamper my musical progress. Practicing at the school _without_ Bella would hamper it. Of course, he would never believe me, and probably thought that I spent my time pinning her against the piano and attacking her mouth with mine rather than playing Beethoven until my fingers cramped and she fell asleep with her head against my shoulder.

After I had narrowed my eyes at him and told him, rather coldly, that it was none of his business what I did with my time and with whom I spent it, we continued on with little conflict. Except for the fact that now I was positively seething towards the man and concentrating on Beethoven became a near impossibility.

So then after he left and after I had taken Bella home and returned and survived a rant from my mother on the importance of practicing without missing and that Bella would destroy me and that my future was more important than to throw it away to satisfy my raging hormones, I locked myself in my room and completed my studies before laying on my bed and staring mindlessly at the ceiling.

Mindless staring eventually became angry thinking, which eventually became contemplative. I realized then that I wouldn't throw anything away for raging hormones, because it really wasn't just that. Bella appealed to me on more than a physical level. Yes, she was beautiful. Painfully so. But there was more to it. More to us. She understood me, and I her. It was nice to have someone like that. It then struck me that I was beginning to fall in love with Bella.

And with that, I realized that I _needed_ to spend my time with her. That I _needed_ to talk to her. That the days in which I couldn't see her were the worst of the short while that was my senior year. So I awoke earlier than usual the next morning and headed downstairs to grab a quick breakfast to pick up Bella. _My_ Bella. And besides. . . She needed a ride. Her car was in the lot, unless she had picked it up with her father.

So I was surprised to find my mother seated at the kitchen table so early in the morning, sipping her tea. "You're up earlier than usual."

"I could say the same for you, Mom." I grabbed a couple of the cookies that had been baked the night before and popped one into my mouth as I reached for my car keys. "Gonna grab some Starbucks on the way in to school."

"I'm sure." She sighed and shook her head, frowning at me. "Please be careful, Edward."

"Of what, Mom?" I smirked and took a bite of another cookie, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. "I'm an awesome driver."

"You know what I mean. Just... think of your audition, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'll see you later."

"Say hello to Isabella for me."

"Bella. It's Bella." And with that, I left the house and, after swinging by the drive-thru Starbucks on the way, eventually came to end up in the school parking lot with Bella seated in my passenger seat, picking at her muffin. We had arrived early, and most of the car ride had been spent in silence; I had been lost in thought the whole time.

"I..." I paused and sighed. "I don't want things to be awkward between us."

"Me neither..." Bella blushed slightly and sighed, shifting her cup of chai latte in her hand slightly. "I screwed up. I'm sorry."

"No! No, you didn't. Don't apologize. Let's just... go back to what we were before?" _Why?_ Because I was an idiot. I wanted to be _more_ than what we were before. My stupid teacher. My nosey mother. Now, instead of doing what I wanted, I had simply obeyed and done what I was told once more. Instead of making myself happy, I tore my only chance with Bella in half with just once simple sentence.

She looked up at me now, her eyes sad for a moment and then she nodded, her voice soft when she spoke. "Yeah. Okay. That's fine. Hey, I need to talk to the director about the Carmina Burana. So . . . I'll see you at rehearsal, 'kay?"

Before I could even respond, she had already hurled herself out of my car and towards the entrance of the high school, leaving me to curse at myself and bang my head repeatedly on the steering wheel.

I was the biggest masochistic moron to ever walk the planet, of this I was sure.

* * *

As I sat down at the piano before rehearsal, the conversation of the morning was still fresh in my mind. This was, of course, expected, since it had only occurred less than an hour before. I warmed my fingers up in a mindless haze, playing what I hoped were scales and arpeggios and various chords. Before long, the choir began to file in, and then the stage started to become filled by various instrumentalists. Some of which I recognized, others I had never paid much attention to.

In general, my circle of acquaintances comprised of the heads of the sections in the orchestra. This was simply because they played their instruments better than the rest as a result of musical dedication and practice; something we had in common. Aside from a few music jokes and a couple music theory questions directed towards me, I knew no more about them other than their names.

And now, with one foot out the door, I wished more than anything that I had a close friend that I could confide in when the proverbial shit hit the fan. I needed someone to spill my guts to. And, of course, I had that with Bella—someone to rant and rave to. But now, when I wanted to rant and rave about my idiocy _regarding _her... well, I needed someone, _anyone_ to talk to.

The obvious answer was the social worker or my guidance counselor. But I detested both women equally. The first because she had pulled me aside in freshman year out of some ludicrous claim that I was depressed because I spent all of my time cooped up in the auditorium practicing my piano. Once I had dispelled her fears and informed her that I loved to play and that it was my form of refuge from the bullying antics of my classmates, she backed down. The second, because she was, in all ways, useless. She was never helpful in correctly setting up my schedule; I had always had to do it myself. She was never able to give me accurate advice, nor was the advice she gave me worth listening to.

As I picked out the chords to warm up the chorus and tune the orchestra, I was left to my thoughts, aside from the occasional remark from the ensemble director, Mr. Eschast. He was immensely knowledgeable in music and was certified to lead both the choir and the orchestra. And so, he did. The concert band was a different matter, and I had no idea who led it, but based on the concerts when they preformed after us and I had stayed to listen from outside the door, they knew what they were doing.

Nodding in response to his question to give the sopranos more attention with warm ups, I started to play the normal warm up that I used to force them to reach the highest note they could. Bella was always the one to hit the note flawlessly, the others screeching it out. That was probably why she was the head of the soprano section.

_That, and she was talented and had the voice of an angel._

I foolishly let my eyes land on her once warm ups were done and instantly regretted it. The pang of pain sent to my chest from her stoic stare at the director, her gaze never once coming to me when it usually did, left me reeling and frantic for air. I felt like my lungs couldn't fill up enough to quench their thirst for oxygen, that my heart would stop beating from the agony in my chest.

She was ignoring me.

She had the right to, though.

Broken out of my reverie, I looked at Mr. Eschast and shook my head. "I'm sorry, I was distracted."

"The top of the O Fortuna, Edward. Whatever tempo you feel comfortable with; the orchestra is ready to play it at almost the marked speed, so bear that in mind," he repeated with a chuckle and I flipped the book open to the correct movement. Placing my hands on the keys, I glanced at Bella once more before I started playing and, just as the choir was supposed to enter, I just couldn't do it anymore.

I couldn't just sit here like nothing was wrong. I couldn't just act as if her indifference didn't pain me. I couldn't just will myself to believe that what I had done that morning was the right thing to do. And, worst of all, I couldn't find it in myself to keep playing.

So, I stopped. And before I could stop myself from doing so, I stood from the bench as the choir came to a halt and muttered an apologetic "I'm not feeling well, sorry" before bolting out of the auditorium, ignoring Mr. Eschast's concerned callings.

The next thing I knew, I was barging into my music theory room. Ms. Kaylin—the kindest woman on the entire faculty, I was certain—stood immediately upon my entrance. By some saving grace, she didn't have a class that hour. "Edward?"

"I'm sorry. I just... I needed someone to talk to. I didn't know who else to go to. I walked out of rehearsal. I don't know what's come over me. Well, that's not true; I do know what's come over me, I just..." I trailed off in my rambling and stood in the doorway, shutting my eyes tightly before turning to leave. "I should go back."

"Wait, Edward. Here. Come here and sit down."

Looking at her for a moment, I took a deep breath and nodded, walking in and closing the door behind me before going towards her and collapsing into a desk across from hers. She walked around to sit on the edge and frowned at me. "What do you mean, you didn't know who else to go to? What about Bella?"

I winced at her name and looked down at the desk. "She's..."

"She's the reason you're here."

"Yes." I sighed and brought my hands to pull roughly at my hair. "I've completely messed up, Ms. Kaylin. Entirely. I just..."

"I've missed something, I think. You have to tell me what happened, Edward."

"She kissed me. My cheek, I mean. And I just... I've always..."

"Well, that part's obvious. I knew about your feelings for her; the way you used to watch her in class told me as much. So what happened afterward?" She moved from her desk to come sit in the student desk next to mine.

"Well, we went to Starbucks before that. And we talked. And then I almost missed my lesson."

"I'd assume your mother was not pleased," she sounded a little amused and I looked up at her, forcing a smile.

"Well, no. I brought Bella with me and I think that went well... but..."

"Your mother said something to her?" She furrowed her brow, trying to weigh the problems this would cause, I'd assumed.

"No, she said something to _me_. And so did my damn teacher. And I just... I was so _ready_ to move forward and just _tell _her and then today when I picked her up for scho--"

"You picked Bella up?" She asked, her expression lightening.

"I drove her home after my lesson; her car was still in the lot," I offered in explanation, my head held up by my hands, my fingers tangled in my hair.

"Ah, alright. And then?"

"And then she apologized for kissing me last night and I told her not to be and then I _stupidly_ told her I wanted to go back to the way things were!" I pulled at my hair again, clenching my jaw and shutting my eyes.

"Well, did you?"

"No! Of course not. I want to be _more_ with Bella."

"And why's that?"

"Because I love her!" It just fell from my lips, and my eyes popped open with a start. And, in that moment, I knew that what I said wasn't wrong; saying it aloud had only validated my mounting feelings for Bella. My Bella. The wonderful person that was Bella. The Bella I was falling head over heels in love with. How had I not noticed this so clearly before? "I..." I trailed off, looking up at the ingenious woman seated beside me. "I love her."

She smiled at me and stood from the desk, walking over towards her door and opening it for me. "So... what are you waiting for?"

* * *

After I had come back into rehearsal, apologized to Mr. Eschast and resumed from where they had left off after my absence, the rest of the rehearsal went by without much of a hitch. There were, of course, problem spots. This was expected given this was our first rehearsal as a complete group, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to care.

I was excited. Too excited. With the prospect of advancing my relationship with Bella, how could I not be? The thought of it made my insides turn, though it was different from the turning of before. This was a pleasant sort of turning. More like butterflies in my stomach. Which, of course, I would never admit to out loud, but regardless, it was there.

By the end of the second period of the three that made up the rehearsal, I was itching for it to be over. And so was everyone else, but while they were just tired of all the music, I was just aching to talk to the brunette my eyes had been trained on for the last twenty minutes. Thankfully, the director seemed to have noticed, and just as we had finished running through all the things we had worked on in the movement we were on, he cut us off.

"I think I'll end it here for today; great work everyone! I'll see choir people when I see you and orchestra people when I see _you_ and we'll work from there. You can go do what you wish for the rest of the period; you've been excused from class. The _responsible_ thing to do would be to go to your third period class, but I won't tell if you don't," he said with a wink.

And with that, along with a resounding laugh from all the students in the room, he closed his score and walked out of the auditorium.

Before long, the auditorium itself began to clear, and eventually, everyone had left except myself and a couple of other choir members who were inching towards the exit as the continued their conversation. And there, sitting on the edge of the stage, was Bella. I had no idea why she would have stayed, especially since I didn't deserve her time, and I fully intended to corner her between choir and lunch, but now was just as good as any time, I supposed.

And so, steeling my courage, I took a deep breath and approached her. "Bella?"

She tensed slightly, but didn't move to look at me at all, but then, slowly, I saw her take a deep breath and look at me. I hated what I saw. She looked sad. Defeated. Broken. And it was because I hadn't been honest with her before. I had to change that. I could fix this. I _had_ to fix this.

"Bella, I..." I took a deep breath and searched her eyes slowly, trying to decipher if there was any way to save what we had; what we could have had.

"Edward, don't worry, okay? It's fine. I was just caught a little off guard by the mixed signals and had let my guard down. Totally my fault."

"No! No, Bella." I pulled myself onto to stage to sit next to her. "It's not your fault. I did send mixed signals. I sent the _wrong_ ones. I'm sorry, I really am."

"You don't have to apologize. Especially if you don't mean it, Edward."

_What_? I felt my blood boil at her insinuation. Of course I meant it. I meant it with every fiber of my being! I hated that she had lost the trust in me; that she felt I had only wanted to hurt her. "I mean it, Bella. But I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"What, when you said we were okay or when you said you just wanted to be friends after blatantly telling me that my kiss didn't ruin anything? What do you expect me to think, Edward? Really." She frowned and looked away, her voice trailing off near the end into barely a whisper.

I moved closer to her and put my hand on her cheek, coaxing her to look back at me. When she didn't budge, I sighed sharply and leaned closer. "Bella. Look at me. Please."

Hesitating before she looked in my direction, her breath caught when she realized how close our faces were. "Edward?"

"Bella. I'm tired of trying to do what everyone wants me to; I'm tired of denying what I feel." I bore my eyes into hers and her cheeks flushed as she looked at me, her eyes swimming with confusion.

"Wh-what you feel...?"

"Bella, my teacher and my mother told me that I if did this, I would slip in my practicing. That it would destroy my chances. But, Bella... I can't do it anymore."

"Can't do _what_, Edward?" She was looking at me, her eyes beseeching.

I leaned in closer, our lips less than a breath a part. "I can't keep denying how I feel about you."


	5. I've Returned!

Attention readers!

I'm back. I was gone for a long time because I was honestly burned out on writing and I spread myself too thin by writing too many fanfics at once. I just had so many ideas in my head and I wasn't sure what to do with them.

I went to see Breaking Dawn – Part 2 in theaters and remembered my stories and how much I loved writing them when I did. So I want to pick up where I left off, if you would all have me back!

That said, I'm not sure which story to continue first. I'm going to set up a poll that will end a week from today and whichever story has the most votes will be the one I start up again first.

(Though at this point I'm leaning more towards A Return to Forks, Washington.)

Please let me know if you're all still interested in my stories!

Love always,  
Crystal (lakesideminuet)


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